


Open Hand or Closed Fist

by generalekenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, CommanderFoxWeek, Drinking, Fox is a distaster man in this, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Beta We Die Like Clones, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25185814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalekenobi/pseuds/generalekenobi
Summary: “Excuse me, sir, do we have a problem?” Fox asks in the voice he reserves for the most difficult of senators. The man sneers his pretty lips.“Yeah we have a fuckin’ problem: you bastards! You clones wreak… wreak havoc throughout the galaxy, and now you’re invading our bars as well? Get the hell outta my sight, you fucking scum,” he says, and Cody puts a hand on Fox’s shoulder, keeping him from lunging at the man. Gods above, he wants to get his hands on that ignorant shit. Insult him ? Fine. He’s used to being looked down upon, and his life relies on not reacting. Insult his brothers ? Nobody can save your ass.The hut’uun has a lot of nerve to pull this shit in 79’s, of all places.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-2224 | Cody & CC-5052 | Bly, CC-1010 | Fox & Keeli, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-1010 | Fox, CC-5052 | Bly & CC-1010 | Fox
Comments: 18
Kudos: 256





	Open Hand or Closed Fist

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Alcoholism, implied emotional and physical abuse. I'm pretty open ended abt whether it's Sheevy or the general populace treating the guards like shit.
> 
> This is for the day 5 touch-starved prompt of CommanderFoxWeek. Mando'a translations are at the bottom.

The text on the screen blurs to gibberish. Fox sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He’s done. He knows his limits. One man can only do so much flimsiwork before passing out, facedown on his desk. _Again_.

He glances at the drawer that holds his emergency flask, but decides against drinking himself unconscious alone for the fifth night in a row. He unburies his comm from the pile of datapads and flimsi forms, pulling up the chat he has with his old command squadmates.

 **Fox:** I know most of you are on planet. 79’s, anyone?

Fox only half pays attention as he sorts his flimsiwork into _done_ and _tomorrow’s problem_ piles, and comes back to a veritable barrage of messages from his brothers.

 **MisterAaylaSecura:** I think someone’s kidnapped Fox and replaced him with a fraud.

 **MisterAaylaSecura:** Because not once has he EVER wanted to have fun.

 **Kote:** Drinking is a terrible coping mechanism. You can count me in.

 **Wolfman:** Am I the only one actually in the field? Why did you decide to grow a taste for booze when I’m off planet? I’ve been trying to drag you out again for years!

Fox snorts. He’s had a taste for booze for years at this point, he’s just good at hiding it.

 **Kote:** We’ll pour one out for you, vod.

 **Wolfman:** Fuck you.

 **MisterAaylaSecura:** I’m down, Imposter Fox. We heading there now?

Fox gives a small smile at his brother’s antics. They never fail to cheer him up.

 **Fox:** Considering my brain is melting out of my ears from the flimsiwork I’ve done, yes. I need alcohol in my circulatory system immediately.

_Rex is online._

_Rex changed their name to_ **#1Ori’vod**.

 **#1Ori’vod:** The Commander called me her big brother today. 

**#1Ori’vod:** WAIT YOU GUYS ARE DRINKING WITHOUT ME?

 **Wolfman:** See? Now you’ve upset me AND the baby.

 **#1Ori’vod:** I’m not a baby, you fuck.

Fox rolls his eyes as he places his helmet back on his head and turns the lights off in his cramped office, making his way out into the perfectly temperate Coruscant night. He pulls up the chat on his internal display.

 **Fox:** It might not be fair, but it is what it is Rex’ika. We’ll all go out next time the squad is on Cor.

 **#1Ori’vod:** Bly is right. Who are you, and what have you done with Fox? The asshole I know would sooner die than socialize.

Fox frowns as he walks the buzzing city streets. It’s been… a while, yes, but he just didn’t have time since becoming Head of the Guard. It doesn’t mean that he was actively avoiding social situations, he just... tired out a lot easier. He thought his squad-brothers understood that. Maybe he’s misremembering.

 **Kote:** Go easy on him, he’s sensitive.

Fox scoffs and logs off, instead focusing on the city’s nightlife over his brothers’ teasing. There’s no such thing as a dark corner this high up, and it does a little to settle his nerves. They’ve been particularly active since that last murder. He involuntarily shivers. No culprits, no leads, just a dead brother in a dark alleyway. He’d never talked to him, but he recognized his paint job. It could just have easily been Fox. Fox tries to stop thinking about it, and instead turns to counting the amount of duracrete squares he walks over. _One… two… three..._

The people part in front of him like he’s contagious, but that isn’t anything new. What _is_ new is the father yanking his child away from Fox and hurrying off in the other direction, the Rodian child staring at him in horror all the while. That hurts him more than it should.

Fox has to start his count over again.

By five hundred, he’s nearing 79’s. He spots a familiar face loitering around outside. Something ugly unwinds from where it’d taken up roost in his chest. He hasn’t seen any of his squadmates in months, and hasn’t seen Bly since before Keeli died.

“Foxy, I missed you!” Bly exclaims, before stepping in and slinging an arm around his shoulder and steering them towards the door. Fox flinches, but Bly doesn’t pull back. After a heartbeat, Fox allows himself to relax into the touch. Bly always was tactile.

He can’t remember the last time anyone touched him, let alone without intent to harm.

“Missed you too, mir’sheb. How’s the wife?” Fox asks. Bly lets him go, and Fox bets that his blush could be seen from orbit. They enter the familiar establishment, and Fox feels safe enough for once to remove his helmet as soon as the doors slide shut. Bly stutters.

“Aayla is good. We’re… we’re good, vod. Both of us are happy,” he admits, and Fox gives his brother a soft smile. He’s genuinely overjoyed that at least one of them has a happy ending lined up, if the war ever ends. He slaps Bly on the back as they saunter over to the counter. They’re right next to a towheaded man in trendy makeup who curls his rouged lip in disgust and moves away.

“I’m glad, vod’ika. Now, can a drink count as a wedding gift?” he asks, and Bly laughs.

“From you? Of course. Now, barkeep? My brother here wants to buy me a tequila sunrise, and he wants a…?”

Fox clears his throat.

“Brandy. Top shelf, Corellian if you’ve got it. The whole bottle.”

Bly shoots him a flat look, likely judging him for wanting a whole bottle to himself. If getting mostly useless thank-you gifts from paranoid senators has taught him anything, it’s the joy of a good brandy. And at this point, he needs nearly a whole bottle if he wants to get shitfaced.

“What he said,” Bly agrees. 

“Right away, sirs!” the droid replies. Bly turns to his brother.

“So, any new gossip at work?” Bly asks as he grabs the drink from the bartender droid and takes a sip. Fox mirrors him with his own drink, savoring the warmth on the way down. 

He thinks of his dead subordinate, of the hateful graffiti sprayed on the barracks last week, of every senator that has looked straight through him despite the fact that he’s _right there_ , and he forces a smile on his face.

“Senator Yealor and Senator Rolp like to fuck in the elevator. It’s really disgusting.” He says, causing Bly to snort his drink up his nose and sputter out a laugh. Fox pats his brother on the back before taking another drink of his brandy.

“How do you know this? Security footage?” Bly asks, intrigued. Fox shakes his head.

“They somehow accessed the emergency stop button. Rather than bring down maintenance, they called me in case it was another terrorist plot. Needless to say, they were both embarrassed. Didn’t stop them, though. At least once a month, like clockwork, I get that call.”

“How romantic,” Bly says with a laugh, ordering another drink. Fox shakes his head.

“You haven’t seen those elevators, vod. I wouldn’t be caught dead in them, they’re fucking filthy.”

Bly smiles.

"I can only imagine. Now, speaking of romance, how’s the lovelife?” Bly asks, and Fox says nothing, instead choosing to grab his brandy and take a pull right from the bottle. He was just starting to get pleasantly buzzed when of course his menace of a brother had to ruin it.

“Come on, it can’t be _that_ -” Bly starts, and Fox glares.

“I’m in an arranged marriage to my work. You try doing my job and having time for a social life, let _alone_ a… let alone anything else,” Fox says. Bly still has that glint in his eye, so Fox takes another gulp straight from the fancy bottle. There’s hardly any room in his life for himself, so he has no business looking for a fling. Besides, he was a clone. Bly was just lucky he’d found someone who can see past that character flaw.

Before Bly can open his mouth, someone slaps a hand on Fox’s pauldron, making him flinch.

“You started without me?” Cody asks.

It’s Cody. Just Cody. Fox tries to relax his death grip from the neck of the bottle, afraid of cracking it. He can’t, and so he counts the heartbeats he can hear thrumming in his ears. _One… two… three..._ it helps. So does the large drink he takes to calm his nerves.

“Yeah, we figured you could catch up,” Bly says while Fox tries to keep his cool. 

“How are you doing, Cody?” Fox asks as his brother sits down.

“Hanging in there, vod. I’ll take a tihaar on the rocks,” he greets, directing the last bit to the barkeep.

“Is your General hanging in there, too?” Bly teases, and Cody takes one look at him and smacks Bly upside the head. There’s a pink blush gracing his cheeks. Fox grins.

“You know, since we got Bly to tie the knot, you realize you and Kenobi are next, right?” he says. Cody scowls at him. Fox doesn’t care. He’s just this side of drunk and absolutely loving his brother’s pain. Cody turns his pissed glare to Fox. Fox, feeling happy for once, wiggles his brows and chugs some more of his sweet, sweet brandy. Gods bless the Corellians.

“I’d never ask him to choose between me and the Order, just as he’d never ask for me to choose between him and the Republic. Drop it, Fox.” Cody says before taking a sip of his drink. Fox scours his mind for a comeback, but things are a little hazy, and so he drops the topic with little more than a shrug. Bly opens his mouth, either to smooth things over or make them much worse, when they’re interrupted.

“Fuckin’ freaks. Go find someplace else to loiter.” Fox looks over his shoulder, and is greeted with the sight of the towheaded man who vacated the bar earlier, balancing a martini in his grasp. His freckled cheeks are flushed with alcohol and his lined green eyes glitter with malice in the neon lights. Fox stands up.

“Excuse me, sir, do we have a problem?” Fox asks in the voice he reserves for the most difficult of senators. The man sneers his pretty lips.

“Yeah we have a fuckin’ problem: you bastards! You _clones_ wreak… wreak havoc throughout the galaxy, and now you’re invading our bars as well? Get the hell outta my sight, you fucking scum,” he says, and Cody puts a hand on Fox’s shoulder, keeping him from lunging at the man. Gods above, he wants to get his hands on that ignorant shit. Insult _him_ ? Fine. He’s used to being looked down upon, and his life relies on not reacting. Insult his _brothers_? Nobody can save your ass.

The hut’uun has a lot of nerve to pull this shit in 79’s, of all places.

The bar has quieted somewhat, and Fox can feel the beady eyes of the other patrons on them, hungry for a fight. Four of the bastard’s friends have come to stand behind him, waiting for Fox to make his move. The man is standing there, sneering at him, and Fox wants nothing more than to rip him to shreds

“Let it go, Fox’ika. Get your head on straight.” Cody intones, using his commanding officer voice. Fox shakes his hand off of his pauldron, but after a long second of staring into the man’s eyes, he turns back to the bar. He’s better than a barfly itching for a fight. Granted, his skin is crawling with adrenaline, and his instincts are begging him to take action, but he can be the bigger man. He turns away.

Then the man douses Bly in his drink and Fox sees red. He turns around and tackles the man to the ground. Cody and Bly shout at him, but he’s too focused on the man he’s pinning to the ground to understand what they’re saying. He gets a punch in before he’s socked in the mouth and dragged off by one of the man’s friends. He knows his inebriation is going to work against him, so he plays it safe and goes limp, slipping out of the man’s grip and then dropping him with a haymaker to the temple. Around him, he can hear his brothers dealing with the other three goons. He turns and squares up with the shit who started it. The man is staring at him with a mixture of fear and hate. Fox grins. There’s blood in his teeth. 

It’s been too long since he last had some real fun.

“Are you afraid of little old me? I’m just a clone, after all,” he taunts, laughing, and watches the man telegraph his punch. Fox sidesteps, but the man had been bluffing, because he sweeps past Fox, grabs the brandy bottle, and cracks it over Fox’s head. Fox hits the dirt, hard. Even with his armor, he’s sure he’ll be sporting some new bruises in the morning. Fox groans and tries to get up, but the man shatters another bottle over his head and he blacks out for a second. 

When he comes to, the man is slamming his fist into his face over and over again. Fox relishes the contact. It makes him **feel** something for once, more than booze ever could. _One punch… two punches… three punches…_

Fox can hear the cartilage in his nose fracture with a heady crunch right as someone breaks a chair over his assailant and drags him off. The liquor and the head trauma make things blurry, as well as the blood running into his eyes, but he can make out Cody’s face in the red haze.

“Fox! Get up, we need to leave.”

Fox sits up, only to nearly vomit up his booze as the world spins. He laughs, cackles, more like. There’s no such thing as an easy night off, no, not for Fox. Cody and Bly drag him to his feet and shove his bucket in his hands. Putting it on hurts so much his knees wobble, but he leans on the bar for support before Bly is apologizing to the bartender droid and dragging him out of 79’s. Fox groans, the speed at which their going throws his equilibrium so much it feels like he’s coming in and out of zero-g. He plods along, half-leaning on Bly, trying to ignore the rhythmic throbbing of his face. They reach a darkened alleyway and Cody stops them. Fox flinches as his brother rips his helmet off and fixes him with a deathglare. His hysteria evaporates in a heartbeat.

“What the FUCK was THAT?” Cody growls, poking Fox in the chestplate. 

“I was jus’ protecting-” he starts explaining, but Cody is having none of it.

“Protecting? No, you were picking a fight with a civilian, that’s what you were doing. You know better, utreekov! You hit a nat-born, and the only people that end up hurt are us! He could have you decommissioned!” Cody yells, and with each word Fox shrinks in on himself. “Do you want to die?” He asks, and that hits so close to home that Fox remains silent. If he talks, he _knows_ he’s going to fall to pieces. He stares at his brother through his helmet, glad for it hiding his teary eyes. He _hates_ how emotional he gets when drunk. It’s why he drinks alone. 

The longer he takes to answer, the more Cody’s eyes go wild.

Cody steps forwards, and Fox steps back, irrationally scared. He… he knows his brother wouldn’t hurt him, but old habits die hard. Cody’s face goes slack when he does, and Fox opens his mouth to apologize when Bly steps forwards, hands up in an unthreatening manner. Fox still freezes.

“Can I touch you?” Bly asks, and it takes a second to register both that someone is asking permission before laying a hand on him, and that someone is going to touch him without trying to hurt him, for the second time in one night. He nods so quickly that he nearly makes himself ill, and he finds Bly reaching up and easing his helmet off. It bumps his nose and hurts like a motherfucker, but as soon as it’s off, Bly drops it on the ground and steps forwards, cradling his bruised and battered face in his warm hands. Fox shivers when Bly guides their foreheads together in a kov’nyn. He hasn’t felt the skin of another living being in months.

“We’re just worried, vod’ika. You’ve shut us out since Keeli died, buried yourself in work. Now you’re drinking and picking fights?” Bly intones, and Fox’s tears are falling freely. 

“I miss him so much,” Fox croaks.

Cody has Rex, Bly has Wolffe, and Fox has a funeral pyre. His closest friend had died, had sacrificed his life on the battlefield for the Republic, all while Fox was sitting in his cushy office in Triple Zero. He was **alone**.

“I know you do,” Bly says, and pulls him into a hug. The ever-present tension in his shoulders dissipates at the feeling of being safe in his brother’s arms. After a moment, Cody joins in, enveloping Fox completely. He starts to cry in earnest. It makes his face ache, but he can’t stop. He isn’t deserving of this, of any of this. Not when he’s safe on Coruscant, and not when he keeps failing to protect the brothers under his care.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Fox says, and Cody hushes him.

“K’oor, kih’vod. Mhi olar. You have nothing to apologize for,” he mutters, and Fox’s legs give out. He can’t do it anymore, not when his brothers are talking to him like he’s actually worth something. He isn’t worth shit, and he’s heard that enough from the general populace for it to ring true.

Bly lowers them to the cold, cracked duracrete. There they sit, while Fox sobs into Bly’s shoulder and Cody rubs his back. His face is aching, and he knows he’s getting blood and tears everywhere, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that his brothers are with him, alive and well, hugging him as he shatters. He’s a mess, has been for months on end, so he allows himself to fall apart. He trusts his brothers to help him pick up the pieces.

After he cries himself out, he just leans against Bly and closes his eyes. Everything hurts - his face, his head, his heart. He can't ever remember breaking down like this, and he'd be ashamed if he wasn't so damned tired.

Bly shifts him before getting to his feet and offering him a hand up. Fox stares at it for a moment before taking it. He nearly collapses when he's on his feet, the booze and head trauma working against him, but Cody steadied him before throwing his arm over his strong shoulders. Bly looks at Fox and grimaces.

"That bastard really did a number on you. We should take you to medical," he says, and Fox slowly shakes his throbbing head. He’d just needlessly worry Scalpel.

"Already have stuff in my room. It's closer, anyway. Don't know if I can make it to medical."

Bly presses his lips together and exchanges a look with Cody.

"That's not exactly comforting, but all right. Let’s go, Fox’ika,” Bly says, and leads them towards where the barracks are, out of the dim alleyway. The farther they walk, the more tired Fox gets, until the world is just a swirl of lights and colors by the time they reach the barracks. Fox leans more on Cody, and his brother easily shoulders his weight. Fox finds himself grateful for the support.

His room is barren and cold, as it always is, and his cot is untouched. He’s taken to stealing a bedroll and using it in his office, in favor of going down three levels to his private quarters to sleep. The only thing Fox cares about is the substantially sized med-pack he’s set in the corner, and he motions Bly towards it. Cody sits him down on his cot and immediately goes about helping him remove his armor. Bly starts setting out the bacta and some bandages before grabbing a cloth and kneeling in front of him.

"Blow your nose," he said, and Fox groggily does as he's told, groaning afterwards. Bly steeples his hands and places them on his nose, making him flinch. Bly meets his eyes.

"This is gonna hurt like a shabuir. Stay still," he instructs, slowly and firmly drawing his fingers downwards, clicking the cartridge back into place as Fox clenches his fist at the hot spike of pain. Bly backs up and nods.

"It's straight. Gonna have a nasty bruise, though," he says.

Cody finishes removing Fox’s armor and begins to remove the supplies he needs from the medkit as Bly gets down to his blacks. Cody leans in and begins smearing bacta on the worst of his bruises.

The gel is cold, and it hurts to smear on his aching face, but it soothes the pain almost immediately. Fox allows Cody to doctor his wounds to his heart’s content, as he doubts his brother would take no for an answer in this. In that manner, he was always like Fox - fiercely protective of his brothers, and nearly as nurturing as Bly.

“You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he says, meaning it. Nobody’s cared for him this much since… since Keeli. Bly hugs him again, and Cody makes to get up. Fox unthinkingly makes a noise so wounded he would have never been able to replicate it sober, and he turns away, embarrassed, as Cody freezes.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m just getting up to take my armor off,” he informs Fox, and Fox says nothing as Cody removes his armor. They then both nudge Fox to lay down and clamber in after him, just like when they were young cadets, all newly thrown together on the command track.

It’s a tight fit, but they make it work somehow, sleeping in a near pile with Fox squeezed between them. Fox knows that some of his men sleep communally to this day, but as their commander, he has his own private quarters and is thought of as unapproachable. He would never admit it, but he misses the days when if he was cold, or lonely, or scared, all he had to do was clamber into Keeli’s pod, or Rex’s pod, or any of his other brothers’ pods.

In the dark, Fox lets himself cherish the feeling of being wedged between his two brothers. Bly is already half asleep, one arm lazily thrown over Fox, always able to conk out anywhere. Cody is holding him tight to his chest like he can protect him from the galaxy by pure force of will alone.

“Go to sleep, Fox’ika,” Cody rumbles. “We’ll talk more in the morning."

Fox sighs and closes his eyes, letting himself drift away feeling safe and whole for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> Something something intricate rituals repressed gay something something. You get the picture. I stan Keeli, so I threw him in here. I feel like Fox is likely distant for a reason, y'know? And losing your best friend is def a motivation for him bottling everything up like it's an Aquafina factory in here. Title is from Hozier's Cherry Wine because I'm incorrigible.
> 
> Mando'a Translations:  
> Vod - Sibling  
> Ori'vod - Older sibling  
> Mir'sheb - Smartass  
> Vod'ika - 'Ika is a diminutive signalling familiarity, and vod means sibling, so this is something along the lines of 'dear brother'  
> Hut'uun - Coward, worst possible insult  
> Utreekov - Idiot  
> K’oor, kih’vod. Mhi olar - Hush, little brother. We're here  
> Shabuir - Motherfucker


End file.
